


brotherhood

by Anonymous



Category: Daredevil (TV), Fantastic Four, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Frank Castle is Good With Kids, M/M, Trans Johnny Storm, Trans Matt Murdock, Trans Peter Parker, binder trouble, fluffy slice of life, no one else was gonna write this so i took it into my own hands, peter and johnny are Teens, peter has adhd but thats just like a fact, trans author, trans frank castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Red, you got a kid you never told me about?” He asks Matt, and even when he’s joking his voices scrapes out of his throat like it’s being forced, though he sounds like he’s trying for tender. Peter shuts his jaw once he realises it has fallen open, and Matt laughs.“Frank this is Peter; Peter, Frank,” Matt introduces, and Frank looks at Peter properly. Peter watches as Frank gives him a quick once over, clearly amused at Peter’s outfit choice, and Peter suddenly remembers that he isn’t wearing a binder.





	brotherhood

**Author's Note:**

> i finished watching the punisher and then wrote this instead of sleeping
> 
> also im trans so know that this comes from a place of like celebration, but also being trans creates complications and thats part of life! its not suffering or a pity party its just Peter's regular teen awkwardness but in a different way

Peter doesn’t mind giving up his weekends for the good of his city. It’s not like he has much of a social life to sacrifice, and he keeps on top of his homework enough to not wind up in detention. As much as it does cut into his life, and strains his relationships, and beats him black and blue, he enjoys being Spider-man. He wouldn’t do it if he didn’t. Sure, it’s his responsibility to make sure the bad guys get put away, and the little old ladies get across the street, and the lost kids find their way back to their frantic parents; but nothing in the world beats the swoop in his stomach as he drops 20 stories and sails over the city, the heartbeat that pounds in his ears over the rushing of adrenaline during a fight. This is what he’s meant to do, and he’s good at it.

It’s this that Peter reminds himself, on a sunny Saturday in the middle of Manhattan, surrounded by what used to be a rows of parked cars. He always feels a little bad when he has to web up a car and throw it at some evil science dude or half animal person, but really, taking public transport is way better for the environment, so technically Peter is doing everyone a favour in the long run. The villain of the week this time fell more into the scientist category, which Peter could admire, if it weren’t for the evil part. Peter didn’t really catch a whole lot of the dude’s speech, between flying around the head of the contraption he’d housed himself in and coming up with his own sick puns. Something about not being acknowledged for his inventions, proving to everyone that they worked? It was indeed incredibly unfortunate that he had decided to do this, because they definitely did work. For some odd reason the invention he had brought along to demonstrate was a giant silver ray gun that turned whatever it hit into a thick green goo with a horrible _squelch_. It was kinda cool, at first, until he began pointing it at people. It took maybe an hour to get him subdued and in the back of a police cruiser, cursing and ranting about his old employer, or mother, or something, and Peter had been free to swing off to his next appointment.

Well, he would have been, had he not been doused thoroughly with a car and part of a tree. His suit clings to him horribly, and the skin between his thighs chafes in a way that makes him waddle more than walk. It takes three tries before any web will come out of the shooter, his entire arm covered in a thick layer of slime, and when it finally does, the line that clings to the skyscraper opposite him is tinged green. He can feel the slime sliding down the back of his suit, down his spine and into his underwear and he shivers in mid air, nearly missing the next building. The wind rushing past does nothing to blow it off, just dries it into a crust that pulls at his leg hair when he moves. He knows he can’t go home, it’s a hell of a distance and he doesn’t exactly feel like dripping all over New York City and leaving a trail straight to him and Aunt May. Besides, he needs to get this thing washed asap before it’s stained beyond repair, and he’s never gonna get it past her to the laundry, not on her Saturday off. Peter considers dropping into a laundromat, but how is he supposed to get it past all the other customers, and what will he wear while it’s in there? He also desperately needs a shower. He just keeps moving, heading south parallel to Central Park, mind running a hundred miles an hour through all his options. He’s just about the make a hard right and take a dip in the Hudson when the tree line on his left ends and he spots the green ‘59th St’ sign. The border of Hell’s Kitchen. Peter smiles behind his mask and immediately splutters when the goo drips into his mouth.

Peter likes Matt, he really does. And now, he’s pretty sure Matt likes him too. It had taken months of bugging him, pun intended, before Matt had even let him into Hell’s Kitchen. Eventually, Matt had somehow realised that Peter was less _man_ and more _literal child_ , and had instead started to focus on training him up than chasing him down. Now, they’ll go on missions together, get street food at 2am exhausted and beat up, Peter will even walk over to Matt’s apartment after school and dump his bag before going on patrol. When he finally manages to swing onto Matt’s roof, leaving a trail of slime footprints across the grey concrete, he kicks over the brick that conceals the spare roof key and thanks his lucky stars when it glints back up at him. Peter quickly unlocks the door and replaces the key, managing to not get too much gunk on it.

“Hey, Matt, what’s up?” He says, trying for casual, as he cracks open the roof access door. He knows Matt heard him coming, and he looked through the windows on the way past to make sure he was in, so he doesn’t falter when he sees Matt standing, hands on his hips, in a grey t-shirt and sweatpants, facing up at him. Peter attempts to muffle the way his feet squelch every time he takes a step, and tries not to leave any green handprints on the door as he closes it behind himself. Matt doesn’t look pleased.

“What on earth is that smell?” Matt scrunches up his nose. “And why are you covered in it?”

Peter pulls off his mask and sniffs himself quickly. It doesn’t smell bad, per say, just strange, more organic than chemically, but Matt almost looks like he’s about to gag. Peter ignores his questions.

“Could I, uh, maybe use your washing machine? My Aunt’s home so I can’t wash my suit there, and the laundromat is too public. If you have one,” he asks, suddenly considering that Matt might not, and now he’s dripped all over his rooftop and staircase for nothing. Matt frowns but waves him down as he walks to a door on the wall and slides it open.

Peter hurries down the stairs and cringes again at the feeling of the goo slowly making its way down his scalp. He knows his hair is stuck up at all angles like he dumped a tub of gel on it, he pretty much did, and it’s starting to run into his eyes.

“The washer and dryer are in there, the labels are in Braille so just put it in and I’ll turn it on for you. Feel free to also have a shower.” He all but commands.

Peter nods and rushes past, giving Matt a wide berth lest he wipe some on him by accident. He starts pulling off his suit piece by piece. Gloves first, then boots, then the zip down his back. He has to tug twice as hard, and he winces when the dried goo pulls on his hairs, but finally the suit falls off with a gross, wet _smack_ on the tiles. He goes beet red immediately, and sheepishly looks at Matt, whose brow is pinched over his firmly shut eyes. Peter ducks his head into his shoulder.

“S-sorry, I’ll clean it up,” he mumbles. Matt sighs, and gives him an only slightly forced smile.

“Don’t worry. Just hurry up, I have work to get back to.”

“Right! Sorry,” Peter says and gathers up his suit and underwear from the floor, taking out his phone from the pocket and putting it by the sink. He hesitates for a second about the boots, but they need to be cleaned, so he throws everything through the round hole and firmly shuts the door.

Matt puts in powder and pushes the right buttons and it whirs to life. Peter feels a little awkward standing there without clothes on, even though he knows Matt can’t see him, so he turns and starts the shower behind him. The door slides shut as he fiddles with the taps, the water scalding hot on his skin because he's too impatient to fix it.

 

The white fluffy towels come away without any green stains so he’s satisfied that he did a good job of goo-removal. He slides open the door to find a stool with a pile of clothes for him sitting right outside, so he puts them on quickly. The shirt goes almost to his knees, and he’s sure it would even be too big on Matt. The sweatpants fit him a little better, but he has to roll them so many times to stop them dragging on the floor that he almost looks like he’s wearing ankle weights. His phone sits in a pool on the white counter, and he runs it under the tap until its clean, grateful that he decided to upgrade to a waterproof one after his last liquid-based fiasco, then wipes down the counter with some wet toilet paper, and actually yells out loud when it comes off stain free.

He realises immediately that Matt definitely heard his ecstatic ‘yes!’ and walks back out into the hall.

“Uh, my phone still works,” he says when he notices Matt, turned in his chair towards him, giving him an expectant look.

Matt raises his eyebrows and looks genuinely impressed, then sniffs the air in front of him.

“Good job,” he tells Peter. “Your suit should be done in about an hour.”

Peter groans. What is he supposed to do at Matt’s apartment for an hour. Matt’s apartment with no TV, no books, and no visual stimulation. He walks to the couch and flops down, the cool leather crinkles underneath him.

“Are the clothes ok?” Matt asks, the Braille covered papers spread out along his kitchen bench thoroughly forgotten. “Sorry I don’t have a binder, I gave all mine away when I stopped needing them, and something tells me it wouldn’t have fit you anyway.” He laughs. Peter wonders if he can tell how much the clothes hang off him.

“That’s ok,” Peter says, poking his head up behind the back of the couch so he can see Matt. He doesn’t mind not having a binder here, not just because Matt can’t see him, though that helps, but he knows Matt knows what it’s like. “They’re kinda big, but that’s fine. Super soft. Thank you, for letting me, y’know, you’re really saving my ass.”

Matt gives him a look like he knows he is.

“I meant it when I said you can come to me with any problem, although, this isn’t really what I was anticipating,” Matt smirks.

Peter blushes again, more at the absurdity of turning up on his doorstep covered in slime than actual embarrassment. He suddenly remembers said slime and whips his head towards the stairs to assess his damage, but all he sees are two crumpled up towels on the floor, mottled green and white. Peter looks back to Matt, jaw hanging slightly open, genuinely embarrassed now at Matt having to clean up after him, but Matt has turned back around and is once again hunched over his paperwork, fingers trailing rhythmically across the page. Peter shrinks down on the couch until he has slid all the way on his back, and stares at the ceiling.

After a few minutes of relative silence, just when Peter is about to go crazy from lack of stimulation, his phone buzzes on the couch by his feet. Peter just about leaps the small distance to grab it, and the screen lights up with a single notification.

 

**Johnny**

saw you on the news. does this make you snail-man now?

 

Peter laughs aloud and texts back immediately, grin splitting his face so hard his cheeks start to ache.

 

**Peter**

sdgksjdkjgsdn

it better not

that stuff was nasty

**Johnny**

was?

how did you get it all off so fast

**Peter**

I’m at Matt’s

I had a shower

**Johnny**

aw, without me? :(

**Peter**

djsgnjsdhnks i hate u

**Johnny**

hehe

u love me

 

Peter laughs again, and his heart flutters inside his chest. 

**Peter**

yeah yeah

 

He’s about to write out another message when he hears Matt snort behind him. He is turned around again in his chair, and Peter locks his phone and lays it back on the couch so that he can peer at Matt again.

“Yes?” Peter says, trying for casual but missing by a mile.

“I haven’t heard that sound in years,” Matt tells him, and the smirk on his lips tells Peter that nothing good is coming.

“What sound?” He asks, sceptical.

“You know, the flushed face, the racing heart, the giggling, _young love_ ,” he teases, and Peter goes bright red.

“I don’t giggle,” he manages to get out around indignant spluttering, and Matt full on laughs.

 “Oh come on,” he says, but then his face softens and he gets up from his chair. Matt isn’t usually one for emotions, much less emotional _sharing,_ and in the early days of their friendship, once Matt had finally stopped chasing him out of Hell’s Kitchen and stopped to have a real conversation every now and then, Peter had done most of the prying. Lately, Peter isn’t sure what it is. Maybe they’ve just know each other long enough, spent enough time together fighting people and saving the city that Matt has opened up to him, but Matt seems a lot more willing to talk about himself and how he feels. He could just be going to therapy, but Peter thinks it might have something to do with the extra voice he hears coming from Matt's apartment while he’s on late night patrols.

Matt sits on the back of the couch and leans over Peter, who is still flat on his back and very much at home.

“Do I know them?” Matt asks like he really wants to know. Peter is suddenly worried that Matt is gonna go into protective intimidation mode and run out and find him.

“Uh, yes? He’s another hero. You’ve met before,” Peter says.

“It’s Storm isn’t it?” Matt says, deadpan. Peter’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. He sits up quickly.

“What? How did you guess that?” Peter waves his hands about in large gestures, completely subconsciously. Matt laughs once.

“Because every time you’re in the same room I can hear your heart beats going crazy. It’s kind of sweet,” Matt says, just shy of condescending.

Peter is about to ask him who it is that’s got him in such a good mood, when a long beep sounds from the bathroom.

“Washing’s done. I’ll put it on to dry. Will it shrink if I put it on hot?” Matt asks as he gets up.

“No, I’ve washed it a hundred times, it’ll be fine,” Peter calls back, forgetting that Matt would have heard just fine if he’d whispered.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask, because Matt goes right back to his paperwork in the kitchen. Peter opens Instagram using Matt’s wifi that he absolutely did not hack into, and scrolls around for a while. He’s considered starting an account for Spider-man, showing people that he’s just a regular New Yorker like everyone else despise what the Daily Bugle says, much like how Johnny has mixed personal with Fantastic Four photos, but he hasn’t quite figured out how to encrypt it in a way that means no one would be able to trace it back to him. He searches Johnny’s profile and looks at his most recent photos. A mirror selfie in his suit with fire for hair, New York from above, a picture of Peter tucked under Johnny’s crisp white bed covers so only his brown hair is visible. Peter had gone over it a million times to make sure he wasn’t identifiable before Johnny posted it, and he has to physically restrain himself from reading the comments. He goes back to the one in the suit, the dark blue complimenting his skin perfectly, radiating confidence even with his body being clung to on all sides, abs clearly visible. He screenshots it, despite being able to just ask Johnny for the original, but he’s too wary of what would happen if he simply said ‘hey johnny, send me that pic of you looking hot in the mirror.’

Peter is just starting to get bored of looking at memes on his explore page and is a few seconds away from asking Matt when his suit will be done, when he hears the loud thudding of footsteps on Matt’s roof. Peter sits up immediately, ready to fight whatever intruder is about to break into Matt’s apartment, but Matt doesn’t even move, though Peter knows he’s heard them too. The door cracks open and a tall, dark figure stands silhouetted by the sun, which casts a long shadow across the floor. It’s not until the sound of heavy boots stomping across the floor ends that Peter can see the guy properly. He’s all in black, with close-cropped hair and a wicked scowl on his face and Peter knows who he is immediately.

To say that Peter has fought the Punisher is a little bit of an exaggeration. He’s never had to actually beat him up, not that Peter thinks he could if he were to try, and they tend to actually go after the same people, more or less. He’s just had to web him up to restrain him a couple of times when he’s been about to kill someone. He’s never met Frank Castle out of costume before, though, and he’s a little dumb struck.

“Red, you got a kid you never told me about?” He asks Matt, and even when he’s joking his voices scrapes out of his throat like it’s being forced, though he sounds like he’s trying for tender. Peter shuts his jaw once he realises it has fallen open, and Matt laughs.

“Frank this is Peter; Peter, Frank,” Matt introduces, and Frank looks at Peter properly. He watches as Frank gives him a quick once over, looking slightly amused at Peter’s outfit choice, and Peter suddenly remembers that he isn’t wearing a binder.

He quickly folds his hands across his chest and under his armpits, flattening down his chest and hunching his shoulders. Frank walks into Matts kitchen like he’s done it a hundred times and starts pouring himself a glass of water from the tap. Peter notices his lack of skull or giant menacing rifle, but wonders how many guns he has hidden. He doesn’t unwrap his arms, even when Matt and Frank start talking to each other over the kitchen counter, just stands there by the couch awkwardly, freaking out.

He could run into the bathroom and get his suit, which has an exercise friendly binder sewn in, but it’s probably still soaking wet and then Frank would know that he’s Spider-man. He could go and get one of Matt’s hoodies, but he doesn’t think it’s right to go and invade his room like that. Frank definitely saw his chest, Matt’s shirt does nothing to help Peter out. He doesn’t mind if Frank knows he’s trans, as long as he’s not transphobic. Frank has to know that Matt is trans too right? Definitely if he’s the one that Peter’s heard the past few months, and he’s pretty sure he is, so Frank surely isn’t gonna be rude about it. It’s just that he doesn’t know if the rest of him is enough to offset that clear indicator, did Frank see him and immediately think _girl_? Either way, his skin is beginning to crawl at the fact that someone has seen him without a binder on anyway, and his breathing picks up and his heart is racing and he’s fine but he’s so uncomfortable and—

“Peter,” Matt says, softly, concerned, and oh yeah, Peter forgot that he can absolutely hear his little freak out.

Peter looks over to him with wide eyes, even though Matt can’t see them, and Matt nods for him to come closer. It’s the last thing that Peter wants to do, he wants to run in the opposite direction, maybe lock himself in the bathroom until Frank leaves, but he shuffles closer to the kitchen bench. Matt is watching him as he moves, reaching out a hand until he’s in touching distance and just holding his elbow to steady him. It doesn’t really help, but Peter realises Matt must think he’s scared of the fact that the Punisher has just walked into the apartment and is now rifling through Matt’s fridge. Peter jiggles his leg anxiously and doesn’t know what to do. Should he whisper to Matt, or does Frank have enhanced hearing too? Matt moves his hand further along Peter’s arm, and gives Peter a confused look. His other hand feels for Peter’s other arm, still crossed tight to the point that his arm muscles are starting to seize up, and it seems to suddenly dawn on Matt what the problem is and he gives Peter a sympathetic, almost apologetic look. He takes back his hands. He moves to get up from his chair, hopefully to go get Peter a jumper, when Frank turns around and notices Peter’s hands. Before Peter can even think to run out of the room, Frank is unzipping his black hoodie and handing it wordlessly, face completely casual, to Peter over the wooden bench. He seems to realise that Peter will need to take his hands away to put it on, so he gives it to Matt and turns back to the fridge, facing the other way.

Peter sighs in relief, though he’s gone red, and takes the hoodie from Matt with shaking hands. He quickly slips it on and zips it all the way up. It’s huge, the sleeves cover his hands entirely, and Peter is completely shapeless. It smells very strongly of man, and Peter recognises it as also being on the towels he used. Peter clears his throat slightly, and Frank turns back around in a way that doesn’t make it look like he was waiting for his cue. He claps his hands together and smiles.

“So, you boys fancy some lunch?” He says, moving to prepare the ingredients he’s laid out. It’s an odd phrase to use, considering that Matt hasn’t been considered a boy for quite some time, but Peter understands it for what it is. He smiles, relieved, and notices the soft look of pure adoration on Matt's face as Frank cuts up tomatoes.

 

It’s not until Peter is back on the couch, full of pasta, once again scrolling through his phone that Frank comes to talk to him. Peter had talked mostly through lunch, the three of them sitting around the kitchen bench, Matt’s papers tidied into a neat pile, about anything and everything, getting side-tracked mid way through his own stories, and Frank and Matt had just patiently listened. Frank kept up with his jokes, and he and Matt teased each other enough that Peter didn’t feel like a third wheel. Really, it was no different from when they were on a mission together.

MJ had just sent him a dumb meme that didn’t make sense, but of course that’s what makes it so funny, and Peter had cackled aloud before remembering where he was, in the middle of Matts living room, bathed in blue light, with Matt and Frank right behind him at the bench. Frank walks over and plonks himself heavily into one of the armchairs, and puts his boot clad feet on the coffee table with two resounding thuds. Matt grumbles behind them and loudly flips a page. Peter puts his phone down immediately, not wanting to be one of those teens who ignores people just to go on their phone. Especially not Frank Castle. Frank smiles like he’s noticed and appreciates it, and Peter smiles back.

“Hey, kid,” Frank says, light and playful. A world away from the voice he uses as the Punisher. “You think any of the Avengers are trans, or just us vigilantes?”

Peter is about to launch into his explanation of why he’s certain Captain America is trans (something Johnny has suffered through a million times) simply on reflex, until the exact words that Frank has said register in his brain. Us vigilantes. Frank knows he’s Spider-man. He must look stricken, because Frank chuckles.

“C’mon kid. You sound exactly the same. You even told the same story. Oh and uh, if that wasn’t enough, there’s that blue and red monstrosity going round in the machine behind you.”

Peter whips around and sure enough, the bathroom door is wide open where Peter left it and his suit is clearly visible through the glass. Oops. Peter turns back and smiles sheepishly. Frank seems to be waiting for something else, and Peter isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say, until he runs back Franks words again. Us. Us!

“You...” Peter starts and Frank chuckles again.

“Me.”

“I told you there was a bunch of us,” Matt says, plopping himself down on the couch next to Peter.

“I thought you meant, like, hypothetically, not people I know!” Peter waves his hands dramatically and Matt grins.

Matt pulls Peter into his side and hugs him. Peter’s never had a big brother, but he imagines that this is how it feels, and he leans into him and pulls his feet up underneath himself. He doesn’t need Matt’s super hearing to know that Frank’s heart is pounding out of his chest, it’s written all over his face.

“Johnny’s trans,” Peter says. It’s public knowledge, and Johnny does a lot of activism on his social media, so he isn’t outing him, but Peter doesn’t exactly expect that either of them have looked online lately.

“Huh,” Matt says behind him. Frank must be giving off confused energy or something because Matt clarifies. “Human Torch.”

“Geez, how many of us are there?” Frank groans, but Peter can see that his eyes are crinkled in a familiar way.

Before Peter can once again launch into a long explanation of his newest interest, or recount in painful detail a conversation he and Ned had at school the other day, the machine in the bathroom gives another long beep. Peter huffs and deflates slightly into Matt, who gives him a consoling pat on the head. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go back out on patrol, he does, but he’s comfortable, and Frank’s hoodie is warm. But he has a job to do. Besides, Frank probably came here for a reason, and he doesn’t really feel like staying until it gets awkward. He lifts himself from the couch and walks wordlessly to the bathroom, sliding the door shut after himself.

The suit is toasty warm against his skin, so he’s back to a good mood by the time he reappears on the living room, mask clutched in one hand and the borrowed clothes piled in the other. Matt and Frank look up at him from where they are on the couch together, and Peter feels a little like he’s going to a school dance or something. He awkwardly shuffles towards the couch and lays Matt’s clothes on the arm.

“Here are your clothes,” he puts them down so they make a noise. “Thank you again, for helping-”

“It’s no problem Peter,” Matt cuts him off with a smile, knowing if he lets him go on Peter will never stop.

“Thanks for the hoodie, and it was nice meeting you properly,” Peter tells Frank, balling up the jacket and throwing it to him a little too hard, even now, forgetting how strong he can be. Frank catches it with no problem though, and gives him a nod.

Peter jogs up the stairs, pulling on his mask as he goes, until he reaches the roof access door.

“Bye Matt, bye Mr. Castle Punisher sir,” he calls, and shuts the door to the sound of Matt’s bright laughter.

He tests out the shooters once to make sure the goo hasn’t ruined them, and two long lines of web fall onto the street below him. Peter smiles and pulls out his phone, quickly texting Johnny, before he launches himself from Matt’s roof and back out into his city.

**Peter**

omg

babe

u’ll never guess who just made me lunch

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to Jon Bernthal's giant pecs


End file.
